I sat down at the computer yesterday with good intentions. I had this to do, I had that to get on with. Sadly my headache had other ideas. As much as I wanted to be productive, that nasty litle pain in my head wouldn't let me concentrate. I almost wrote that headaches are a pain in the butt. Maybe I won't do that.

This was of course the library, which means there's always other people there, and these days the public have no idea what a library is. The plump lady on my right was moaning about something she was doing and thankfully gave up and left. At last. Silence.

It was not to be. A large gentleman of african extraction thumped down on my left. He proceeded to search a plastic bag for something....

No, still hasn't found it...

Still searching...

At this point I was about ready to shout at him. He put the bag down and the library returned to the steady chatter of computer keyboards and mobile phone ring-tones. Then I discovered what that chap was looking for. He opened a bag of sweets designed in the Cold War to poison most of mainland Russia. The smell was extraordinary. Can you guess what happened next?

Squelch... Squelch... Chomp... Squelch....

Take a deep breath Calfrail. He had in fact spotted my irritation and sensibly stopped squelching. So he plugged his headphones in and called up his favourite rapper mp3's, which were audible at twelve miles in a sort of tinny and completely unmusical way. I glanced across and to my relief he turned the volume down. Always a sensible move with rap music. Completely off is better.

Ahhhhh... At last. Okay, let's get back to the job in hand. Concentrate... Freed from the distraction of other life forms my headache returned as the primary reason I was sitting there staring mindlessly at the screen. Oh no.... He's reaching into his bag of sweets.

Squelch... Squelch... Chomp... Squelch....

I could stand no more. Without further ado I logged off and went over to the booking screen to find another vacant computer. There's one, downstairs. Ten seconds later I was logged on downstairs and ... Another chap plonked himself down in the next booth and began searching a plastic bag for something...

Wobblies

Sometimes my neighbours argue. To be honest, I haven't a clue what it's about, all I hear is some highly strung and clearly irate young woman yelling and screaming intermittently. So angry was she this time that when she slammed the door, the entire house wobbled. Really. I kid you not.

Now I know why slang for a tantrum is "Throwing a wobbly". That one registered three point five on the richter scale. I guess one way or another the earth moves for her on demand.